Chapter 6
Ethan
She didn't respond to my email.
It's been two days, and the read receipt shows she opened it, but no reply. No acknowledgment of my apology beyond cold silence.
I deserve that. Deserve worse, probably.
But it still hurts.
Friday afternoon, I'm in the library working on my section of our project when Chelsea appears.
"Ethan! Hi. Can I sit?"
I gesture to the empty chair across from me. "Sure."
She sits, all bright smiles and obvious interest. "I've been wanting to talk to you. Ask you something, actually."
"Okay."
"There's a party tomorrow night at my sorority house. I was wondering if you'd want to go? With me?"
She's asking me out. It's clear and direct and exactly the kind of normal college interaction I should be having.
"I don't really do parties."
"Oh." Her face falls slightly. "That's too bad. I thought maybe we could get to know each other better. Since you're new and everything."
I should say yes. Should go to the party, flirt with Chelsea, prove to myself and to Ivy I'm moving on.
"Maybe another time."
"Sure. Yeah. Another time." She stands, clearly disappointed. "If you change your mind, text me. Ivy gave me the impression you were single, so..."
"Ivy talked to you about me?" I ask in surprise. I didn’t think she spoke about me to anyone.
"Just said you guys aren't close, that I should ask you myself." She smiles. "So I'm asking."
"I appreciate it. But I'm not really looking to date right now. Focusing on school."
"Okay. Well, the offer stands if you change your mind."
She leaves, and I'm left staring at my laptop, thinking about the fact that Ivy told this girl to ask me out. Ivy, who barely speaks to me. Who leaves rooms when I enter. Who looks at me with carefully controlled hatred.
She's trying to set me up with someone else.
The realization shouldn't bother me. She's moving on. I should move on too.
But the thought of dating someone else, or even pretending to be interested in anyone who isn't Ivy, makes me feel sick.
My phone rings. It’s Marcus.
"Where are you?"
"Library. Working."
"It's Friday night. You've been working all week. Come out with us. There's a group going to dinner."
"I'm busy." I lie, because it’s the last thing I want to be doing.
"You're always busy. Come on, man. You've been here two weeks and you've barely socialized."
He's right. I've been so focused on Ivy, on the project, on our forced interactions, on figuring out how to fix what I broke that I've ignored everything else.
"Fine. Where?"
"That pizza place off campus. Meet us there in twenty?"
"Okay."
I pack up my stuff and head out. Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting in a booth with Marcus and five other people I barely know, half-listening to conversations about classes and weekend plans.
"Ethan?" Marcus nudges me. "You good?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Distracted."
"You've been distracted since you got here. What's going on?"
I could lie. Should lie, but Marcus has been nothing but decent to me, and I'm tired of carrying this alone.
"There's this girl."
"Obviously. You're not exactly subtle about it." He jokes, and I should tell him to fuck off.
"What does that mean?"
"Dude, you look at Ivy like she's the only person in the room. Every time. It's intense."
"It's complicated."
"Most things worth having are." Marcus takes a drink. "Want to talk about it?"
So I do. Not everything, not the details of what I did or why, but enough. That we used to be close. That I hurt her badly. That I'm trying to fix it and failing.
"Have you tried actually talking to her?" Marcus asks. "Like, honest conversation? Not whatever hostile thing you two have going?"
"She won't listen."
"Have you tried?"
"Every time I try to explain, I freeze. Can't find the words. End up saying something cruel instead."
"Why?"
"Because—" I stop. Think about it. "Because if I'm honest and she still hates me, that's worse than her hating me for being an asshole. At least the asshole version isn't really me."
"That's the most fucked up logic I've ever heard."
"I'm aware." I agree with him more than I can say.
"So try something different. Be vulnerable. Tell her the truth. What's the worst that could happen?"
"She could hate me more."
"Or she could understand. Give you a chance to fix it." Marcus leans forward. "Look, I don't know what you did, but whatever it is, carrying this guilt is destroying you. Either make it right or let it go, but you can't keep doing this halfway thing."
He's right. I know he's right.
But the thought of actually telling Ivy the truth, about my parents' threat, about the impossible choice, about the three years of regret, terrifies me more than her hatred.
Because if I tell her everything and she still can't forgive me. Then I'll know for certain that I destroyed the one thing that mattered most.
And I'm not ready for that certainty.
Not yet.
Saturday night, I'm in my dorm doing homework when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number: Hey, it's Chelsea. Changed your mind about the party? Would love to see you there.
I stare at the text for a long moment.
I could go. Could show up at the party and flirt with Chelsea and pretend to be a normal college student having a normal college experience.
Prove to Ivy that I'm moving on.
Prove to myself that I can care about someone who isn't her, but I know it would be a lie.
So instead, I text back, Thanks for the invite, but I'm going to pass. Have fun though.
Her response is quick, Your loss. But seriously, if you ever want to hang out, let me know.
I don't respond to that. Instead, I open my laptop and pull up the document of unsent letters to Ivy.
Start writing a new one.
Ivy,
I saw you in the library today. You were sitting in your usual spot, third floor corner, completely absorbed in whatever you were reading. Your hair kept falling in your face and you kept pushing it back, annoyed. Same gesture you've had since middle school.
Someone asked if I wanted to go to a party. A girl. Pretty, nice, interested. I said no.
I can't explain why without sounding pathetic. But I think you know anyway.
Marcus asked me what I'm doing here. At Thornhill. What my endgame is.
I told him I'm trying to fix something I broke.
But the truth is more complicated than that.
I'm not here to fix anything. I'm here because being near you—even when you hate me—is better than being somewhere you're not.
That's pathetic. I know it's pathetic.
But it's the truth.
And truth is something I should have given you a long time ago.
-E
I save the letter with the others. Dozens of them now. Hundreds of pages of confessions that will never be sent.
My penance for being a coward.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's my father.
Dad: Your mother tells me you turned down a social engagement. This is exactly the behavior we warned you about. You're at Thornhill to make connections, not to isolate yourself.
I stare at the text, anger building in my chest. How did they find out so fast?
They have no idea. No idea what they cost me. What their threats and control and impossible standards have done.
And they never will.
Because telling them would require admitting that I regret the choice I made. That I would choose differently now if I could and that admission would give them power I'm not willing to concede.
I turn off my phone without responding.
Tomorrow I have to face Ivy in class again. I have to sit behind her and watch her be brilliant and untouchable. Have to continue this performance of indifference while drowning in feelings I can't express.
But tonight, in the privacy of my dorm room, I let myself admit the truth.
I'm still in love with Ivy Chen. I've been in love with her since we were twelve years old.
And seeing her every day, knowing she hates me, knowing I destroyed any chance we had, it's killing me slowly.
But I can't leave.
Can't give up.
Can't accept that this is how our story ends.
So I'll keep showing up. Keep sitting behind her in class. Keep finding excuses to be near her. Keep hoping that someday, somehow, she'll let me explain.
Let me apologize properly.
Let me show her that the person who hurt her has been drowning in regret every day since.
It's pathetic.
But it's all I have and I'll cling to it for as long as she lets me. For as long as I can stand the pain of being near her but not really with her.
Which might be forever.